Chapter Text
The queen fussed over the young prince's blazer. The blue cloth was sewn with intricate geometric designs that drew attention to a small but brilliant diamond that was embedded over where his heart was. Although it fitted his form nicely, his mother was picking out invisible stray threads and dust particles small enough that a convex lens would be needed to even notice its presence.
"Darling, you know you don't have to go, right? The Emeralds-"
"Yes, yes, I know. You've told me what they're like," George assured gently, though he had yet to stop her from incessantly brushing his outfit.
"I know that you're more than capable, we just worry-"
"Mum, I'm fine." The young prince's slender fingers wrap around his mother's wrists, gently pulling them away from his suit.
Her concerns were not unfounded. Apart from their neighboring Kingdom of Gold, George had yet to meet with foreign royals. Although he was well capable, he had never experienced firsthand the passive aggression, the condescending tones that his parents experience every time a glistening, stamped invitation arrives at their doorstep.
Even worse, this was Emerald - the richest kingdom in their continent. They had won a war all the way from across the ocean just two years before. He didn’t even have to personally step foot on a boat. The king was said to be ruthless with a sword, and dangerously charming. He needed to make a good impression in hopes of solidifying strong allies in the future.
"You've spent 20 years raising me to be charming and compassionate. I remember my manners and etiquette, I can manage a ball. I want to attend."
The queen tutted, taking a step back and turning the young man towards the mirror. Through it, he watched her reach for something behind her. His eyes flickered to his advisor and friend who was standing by the door, an amused smile on his face. He gave George an encouraging wink, causing George to smile and bite back a laugh. He felt a gentle weight press on his head as she placed a thin, silver diadem embedded with a few small, brilliant blue gems. It was rather humble for a crown of royal status, but it suited him well.
With arms wrapping around him, she rests her chin on his shoulder. The two lock eyes through the mirror, a soft smile on her highness' carefully powdered face. The short speech she had prepared proved to be unneeded as her son gleamed before her with sophistication, warmth, and resilience. Just as how a young prince should hold himself.
"My handsome prince. We're so proud of you, son," she whispered, planting a gentle kiss on George's cheek.
"Of course you are," he spoke playfully, though the gentleness in his tone said more than needed.
They arrived at the ball, finally, after nearly half a day's journey.
Passing through the Obsidian kingdom proved more troublesome than expected, considering they had only recently been acknowledged as a real country.
The self-proclaimed king had lived in the area, once unclaimed land on the cusp of Gold and Emerald, in nothing but dense forestry. In just five years, the young leader had managed to raise the population tenfold and erect buildings comparable in strength to that of Diamond's city planning.
Despite that, years of arguments, discussions, and a war that was short-lived finally amounted to the continent-wide acknowledgement of the Obsidian region last month. It was impressive. From what he heard, the opposing leader would probably never forget the sight of a blade pointed to his throat by a man with pink hair and a steel gaze.
The guards were, understandably, stricter than they would have been before things got messy.
His parents had met with the hulking king once before, he recalled mother mentioning. A man with long pink hair, a veil that took the form of a hog, broad shoulders draped in a thick red cape and lined with fine fur. They had met with him over a buffet with Gold and no conflict arose. Still, despite their relationship being void of hostility or animosity, what would typically be a half-hour long transit turned into two hours.
Luckily, they had taken into account the potential bumps in the road. They reached the gates right on time.
Their arrival at the pearly gates of Emerald truly was a sight to behold. George had to consciously prevent his jaw from dropping in awe. The castle looked like it was made by the gods themselves.
Tall windows littered the smooth quartz exterior, all stained a light green tint. Even the accents to the pillars were painted with what seemed to be real gold and emerald; An unnecessarily effective show of status. Diamond's castle dwarfed in comparison. Years of royal education did not do justice in portraying the sheer wealth that the foreign kingdom exuded. This was old money, and the prince had never felt so young.
Walking through to the ballroom felt like a haze of blue linen and assuring shoulder squeezes. Some curious gazes fell over the young, unfamiliar prince walking behind the King and Queen of Diamond. Anxiety had been served to him on a silver plate without his approval. While the averting gazes of the servants made his stomach queasy, watching his family stride forward in confidence and elegance calmed his nerves bit by bit and soon, he followed in stride.
I’m okay, he thought. This isn't as scary as I had expected.
His mother gave him one final encouraging look over her shoulder before they drifted over to the corner of the ball where kings and queens were somewhat congregated. This left him in the crowd of strangers, having to put his lessons into practice.
A sea of bright reds, royal blues and all the other colours symbolic of the different countries within the region (and a few from beyond, he recognised) all gathered in one room under the guise of a party. When really, he knew that this was just an informal business meeting.
“Prince George?” A familiar voice spoke to his right. And god, did it feel like a welcoming hand of comfort pulling him to shore. Beside him now stood the curly-haired boy with the warm smile and heart of gold. He was dressed as such, clad in a bright gold coat that draped long over his cream, silken tunic.
“Prince Soot,” George breathed out with a relaxed smile inching its way onto his face. “Lovely to see you again. You look wonderful today.”
“As do you, your highness,” the other prince responded warmly.
“How have you been, my friend? Danced with any maidens yet? Surely there are one or two who catch your eye.”
Wilbur laughed at that, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. He glanced up to the area which sat a few kings and queens. George’s attention was directed towards the group, which included his own parents, King Phil Watson and King Technoblade himself.
Well, he used the term ‘King’ lightly. With Technoblade, the young ruler did not refer to himself as a king. He identified himself as the Leader of the Obsidian Region. His pink locks paired with the hog mask that covered the upper half of his face stuck out like a sore thumb - The only other royal who hid his face was the King of Emerald himself.
Perhaps following the normalcy of aristocratic culture and adhering to the unnecessary unspoken rules were not his forte. George respected that. It was exhausting to keep up sometimes. Though, he did wonder what the two were hiding under there. He was used to seeing the faces of those around him, gauging their expressions and emotions, and reacting accordingly.
He wondered if his parents mentioned the hassle that Obsidian borders caused them. Though, given the polite nature of his parents, he doubted it.
"The King of Obsidian? Surely not," George said with a laugh.
The other man's face contorted to a scowl, making George laugh again, stifling it into his hand to prevent its volume from turning heads.
"Of course not. But amongst his entourage is a lovely Lady. Locks of gold, gentle hands and kind eyes. Absolutely enchanting."
The earlier look of distaste had softened completely to one of eager curiosity as he glanced over at her occasionally, careful not to make his attention apparent. Only then did George notice the petite woman behind Techno. She was talking to a servant boy with brown hair, about the same age as Tommy. Prince Tommy was instead trying to drag him off to somewhere else, speaking animatedly.
"She's his second in command. We spoke earlier this evening, in passing, but I have yet to ask her to dance. She told me I had a voice like a sunset, can you believe that?"
Seeing the shift in Wilbur's tone when mentioning the maiden made George's heart swell slightly. Though they hadn't known each other for long, it was nice seeing a friend's soft spot being hit. It was endearing.
"Sounds to me like you should go have a word with her."
"Me? Oh gosh, I couldn't... Could I? It would be improper, wouldn't it?"
"Why would it be?" George urged with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. "Prince Wilbur, Gold and Obsidian's relations are stable at the moment. Perhaps a union could be of Technoblade's benefit."
He hummed out a noise of contemplation, before pacing backwards a few steps, beckoning the other to follow him as he did. George found himself whisked away to the refreshments table. Wilbur's following tone had a hint of lighthearted teasing.
“If I do recall, the last time we spoke, you mentioned that you had never been involved in international gatherings. This wouldn’t be your first time, would it?”
“That would be right,” George confirmed with a shy smile, taking a tentative sip of his wine. “I have quite the first impression to make on others. I’m sure, being the wonderful friend that you are, you could introduce me to some of the others here."
Wilbur glanced around the room as he considered it.
"Although I'd like to, I feel as though it would ruin the first impression. You're a charismatic young lad, I doubt you'd need me at all," Wilbur encouraged with a pat on the back. George hummed in response, taking a sip of his wine.
"I suppose that's true."
A moment of silence passed between them before Wilbur seemed to concede.
"However, since I am familiar with most here, I suppose I could point out some significant faces and tell you what to look out for. Some interesting characters reside amongst the aristocrats, and even I wish I had a retrospective when I first joined the scene. You'll get the fresh start I wish I had."
"Really? I would really appreciate that, thank you, Prince Wilbur."
The taller man smiled warmly, giving a dismissive nod.
"So you see that man on the opposite side of the room with the horns of a ram?"
Wilbur looked down at his drink as he spoke, letting George glance over casually to the direction mentioned. There stood a well-dressed individual that donned a dark grey, almost black suit. His dark brown facial hair was short, but thick and covered his cheeks and upper lip. He had a calm expression, though his focused eyes seemed to scan the room. Littering his cheekbones were the marks of the Nether, scar-like lines that extended from under his eyes.
The shorter man let out a hum in response, ensuring his gaze doesn't linger for too long. He looked away just before the man looked at their direction.
"King of Netherite. I'd stay away if I were you. I'm sure you've heard of what happened between him and Technoblade, he's ruthless."
Only when he was reminded of it did he notice the tension between Obsidian's ruler and Netherite's King could be felt, despite them being on different sides of the room. It was nice to finally be able to place a face to the name. King Schlatt was infamous for being cunning and unyielding in his pursuit of expansion, and Obsidian wasn't the first victim of his. The conquest had definitely not been without casualties, either.
He would be sure to stay far away enough from the king if possible.
"I have indeed. His name isn't one that's easily forgotten. Why is he here, isn't he from the Nether region?"
"Well, he has bases in a few countries here. Lapis, Redstone... Being such a large stakeholder, King Clayton would be more or less obligated to send an invite, even across to the next continent."
"Of course."
Wilbur carried on, pointing out a couple of other aristocrats and letting him know what they were like and how to gain their favour. George took a mental note of each one and prepped himself for a series of polite introductions.
They took another few steps around so George was once again more or less facing the table his parents sat at.
"I know you haven't met Techno formally yet, but he's a respectable man. As long as you don't ask about the mask; He'll bring it up to you if he feels like it. Give him no reason to upset him, and he will show you nothing but kindness. He once gave Tommy a whole new axe after he mentioned that it was blunt from hunting. Young lad's got a bit of a temper on him, but that cheered him up rather quick."
"That's nice of him. I remember hearing Tommy's yelling all the way from my chambers the other day when you visited," George recalled with a laugh, which Wilbur echoed.
"Sounds like him, alright. On that note though, I should probably go make sure he isn't up to any mischief. I hope that was a decent masterclass on the scene of Royalty."
"It was more than helpful, thank you again."
"Of course, anytime."
"Oh, and Wilbur?"
"Yes?"
"Ask the lady to dance, it won't kill you."
Wilbur's cheeks flushed a rosy pink and he gave a curt nod and a wink, before disappearing back into the crowd and looking for his younger brother. George was alone once again, with a glass of wine in his hand and a vague idea of what to do next.
The following hour or so was spent getting acquainted with other princes and princesses. The kings and queens who weren't too untouchable also gave George some of their time, exchanging brief introductions and shallow smiles. It got tiring after a while. Nobody had laughed or made him laugh as Wilbur had, and he had yet to make a new friend in the room.
Every time he would join in on a group's conversation, the topic would shift to George and his personal life, which he felt uncomfortable opening up about. He usually managed to segue the conversation to more familiar, surface-level ones. However, the young prince found himself standing with the King of Redstone, who was really testing his patience.
"I heard,” the King before him began with a wide, condescending smile, “that Diamond’s King is a weak man. Please don’t take offence to this, I ask out of concern. But he has taught you how to fight, right?”
To add to his point, he pressed a gentle push to George’s shoulder with two fingers.
He seemed pleasantly surprised when George didn’t budge from his spot. Instead, he stood firm. Despite the blatant slander of his father’s name, he forced out a polite smile, fuelled with passive aggression. He knew how to play the game, he had to keep a level head and stick to his strategy.
His father was kind, not weak. Although George hadn’t been taught to fight, he had been raised with lessons on city planning, history and the arts. He had read enough books to fill a library, he was smart with his tongue and sharper with a quill. There was no need to prove this to the prince before him. Wilbur had mentioned that this man tests people’s temper as a means of assessment, and George was not about to show any sign of weakness.
“Of course, none taken. He’s made me strong in my own right. King Alastair, are you familiar with Sun Tzu?”
Alastair looked even more surprised, the condescending smile losing its malice.
“Of course. 'The wise warrior avoids the battle.' Smart man."
He held out his hand, an olive branch extended which George accepted with an internal sigh of relief. They shake hands, with as firm a grip as their understanding of one another. It was an unspoken test, and George knew that the amicable exchange meant that he'd passed.
"Thank you, King Alastair."
"Call me Eret.”
He'd passed the test.
The next few royals he met weren’t as quick to warm up to him. His patience was wearing thin as he dealt with similar condescending comments. It took a lot of tiptoeing to walk the line between being polite enough to not offend, and being sharp enough to not be stepped on. George hadn’t anticipated this to have such a drain on his energy and he soon found himself needing to pull away for a breather.
With a polite smile, he excused himself. ‘One too many glasses of this fine wine,’ he joked, drawing a few curt laughs from the group. He navigated his way to the balcony, passing through the tall curtains and closing the glass doors behind him.
The moonlight falling gently against the pristine quartz balcony served as a sharp contrast from the glaring ballroom with candle-lit chandeliers. In there, it felt cold; artificial, fake. Despite the unfamiliar late autumn breeze, the slits of light between the barrier of pillars felt warm and inviting, lined with rows of gold-stemmed roses. The designs on them were intricate, painstakingly hand-crafted, and the same can be said for the stone bench adorned with green gems. This prompted the young prince to take a rest on the cool seat.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and enjoyed the view. With the cool late autumn breeze mellowing his thoughts and sending a shiver down his spine, he glanced up.
Sometimes, when things seem uncertain, the stars can be your anchor. Always present in the night sky, if you were to just pay a little more attention. It takes a couple of moments for eyes to adjust to the darkness. But when it does, you'll see distant lanterns you would have otherwise never noticed, nestled far beyond the stratosphere.
To George's surprise, however, the freckles littering the vacuum above seemed to have tripled in number. Was it always like this here?
A dollop of envy was added to his plate, and along with it, awe.
He had always thought the stars were beautiful as they were, but had never considered that they could look... different. If there was an option to move his home here to look at this version of the scene endlessly, he would take it in a heartbeat.
"Gorgeous, isn't it?" A voice spoke from behind him.
He hadn't heard the door open. Or perhaps, it didn't open at all, and the stranger was already stood somewhere on the balcony, out of view of the young prince. George turned his head.
The moonlight didn't do much to illuminate him, so the prince could not quite see the colour of the man's suit, nor the colour of the gems on his crown. They almost seemed gold, but that surely couldn't be the case, else he would have recognised the voice behind it.
The quiet tread of the man’s polished loafers followed around the bench before he sat next to the now dumbfounded George. He didn’t even look at the young prince yet. In his hands twirled a rose, suspiciously similar to the ones that lined the barriers of the balcony. Blooming red, with a golden stem that almost glistened in the moonlight.
“Did you just pick that?” George asked incredulously.
“I did."
“I don't think that's allowed..."
"Really?"
His accent, George noticed, was not southern, so he was definitely closer to central or northern territories.
"Yes, I doubt the King would be very happy with someone plucking his beautiful property."
The man turned his head.
Instead of eyes, staring back at George was two circles and a wide smile, carved into some kind of white convex disc. The aforementioned mask covered half his face, with a few tufts of (what he assumed to be) dirty blond hair just barely spilling over the top of it. The material seemed too matte to be metal but too smooth to just be wood. The indentations were emphasized with some sort of black stain, George guessed that it was probably ink. It stopped right around the man's nose, revealing the amused smirk on his lips.
He blinked a few times before what he was looking at finally registered in his mind.
Emerald. He was the king of Emerald.
"I think I'll be alright," the man said with a laugh.
The prince's cheeks turned pink. How embarrassing, speaking to a king that way. And worse, being laughed at for it. Though there seemed to be no malice behind his amused tone, the last thing he wanted was to be looked down on.
"Oh. King Clayton Alexander. My apologies, I didn't know-"
"Hey," he was cut off, "Don't worry about it. I assume you're of Diamond origins?"
Though George couldn't see behind the mask, he could assume that this was deduced from his light blue attire.
The King now began plucking the thorns from the stem, very gingerly, his attention still trained on George. His calloused fingers had been too rough for the edges to pierce before, so flicking off the sharp spikes were no problem for him.
"I am. George Davidson, Prince of Diamond. It's lovely to meet you, your highness."
King Clayton tilted his head slightly, examining him for a few moments longer. He let out a quiet hum of contemplation.
"George. A beautiful name for a beautiful prince. Lovely to meet you too. And please, call me Dream. That's my name."
The compliment made the young man blush. He looked away shyly, letting out a nervous laugh.
The rose had been de-thorned by now, the gold stem no longer littered with little spikes. The shallow indentations where they had been ripped off were slightly paler than the rest of the thorns, but under the moonlight, it looked all the same.
"Thank you. My apologies, King Dream, I’ll refer to you as such from now on."
Dream focused his attention up to the stars, where George had been staring before. The prince found himself doing the same, adjusting to the company.
"How are you finding the party, Prince George?"
"Wonderful so far." He was only half-lying. "The wine is truly amazing."
"Thank you. I picked that one out myself, I'm glad it was to your taste. Cost a pretty penny."
"It was. And the architecture here is breathtaking," he added, looking over at the man.
"Of course it is. It was crafted with the best materials in the country. We're the most powerful kingdom in the continent, we have to look the part," Dream said with a small grin.
George had to stop himself from cringing in distaste. There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and Dream had ruined it, walking through it and kicking the sand it was drawn in.
He could think of about ten other ways that the other nations held superiority over Emerald. The size of Diorite's territory, harvest yield of Lapis' bountiful crops, lowest crime rate. The list goes on. Although Emerald was the wealthiest kingdom on the continent, whether or not it was the most powerful was debatable.
The other aristocrats had a pattern of talking down on him, in their own subtle ways. Moreover, a lot of it was covert; hidden between the lines of formalities, trusting him to pick up on them and hoping for him to take the comments to heart. But they hadn't gloated about their own kingdoms, spoken of how much richer they were to Diamond, how much stronger. It was a known fact; Diamond wasn't the richest rook in the game. Dream's approach appeared to be far more grating.
"Right…"
They were quiet for a few moments. It wasn't quite tense, but George wasn't exactly relaxed either. He found himself staring at the roses that climbed the barrier, watching the way they shimmered and curved over one another. Hundreds of ruby red blooms and carats of golden stems.
"You were looking at the stars, but I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that they're not the reason you're here."
This took him by surprise.
"Pardon me?"
"You're here." Dream twirled the rose between his fingers. "You're out here, alone, because you wanted a break. Why is that?"
"I just needed a breather."
"Was it getting too much?”
“Sorry?” George responded, affronted.
Dream held the rose up higher, letting the moonlight hit it at all the right angles as he examined his work. He ran his thumb over the stem, satisfied with how smooth it felt under his thumb given the fact that it was previously littered with thorns.
“The ball. The superficial formalities, the boot-licking social climbers. It can get overwhelming.”
"I hope you're not underestimating me. I can hold my own just fine."
"Not at all. Everyone needs a break sometimes."
Dream slid closer, resting an arm on the backrest of the stone seat. George could feel the warmth of his presence near him, their knees just barely touching. His breath caught in his throat and he didn’t look up at the man, even though he really wanted to. Dream leaned in closer, his breath just barely grazing George’s ear and his voice barely a whisper with promises of something he couldn’t quite place.
“I’m out here too, aren’t I?”
And with that, George turned his head, face-to-face with the masked individual, only inches apart. Dream was almost leaning forward, taunting, teasing. George felt crowded in, but it didn’t feel like a threat. And suddenly, the plate that had accumulated various emotions throughout the night spilt over, leaving his mind blank and vision fuzzy.
“I suppose so.”
A smirk fell on Dream’s lips and he reached down to take hold of George’s smaller hand. He paused, giving the man a chance to pull away. When he didn’t, he placed the stem of the rose in the palm of his hand and carefully closed George’s fingers around it. The sensation snapped the smaller man out of it, looking down at the rose he was given. It was gorgeous, freshly bloomed. Only then did George lean back slightly, needing a moment to collect his thoughts and emotions.
Dream was cocky. He was arrogant, clearly felt superior as a human being, and George should stay away from him. But there he was, spinning George, twirling him between his fingers like the rose he previously held. How could a man with only half his face exposed be so magnetic?
Noticing how flustered the brunette was, Dream let out a laugh. George couldn’t tell if he was being condescended or if he was just assuming the worst. Regardless, he stood up from his seat, holding the rose in confusion and indignance.
“I hope we’ll meet again soon, Prince George.”